Getting to Know You
by NinjaInTheBin
Summary: "Love" involved knowledge, which was something I lacked severely. And yet, "like" didn't fit either. It wasn't... enough.  Rated T because Ritsu decided to swear. Fluffiness, possibly one shot.


**a/n: So, uhm. First ever fanfiction that I've posted on this site, but not the first I've ever written. Please, be kind, but not deceptively so. If there's a mistake, point it out! I won't be offended. Seriously, I promise. (Bearing in mind it was written at 2am... I'm susceptible to mistakes around about this time. I apologize ._. ;; ) **

**Just a little rant now, feel free to skip it. ~**

**This fandom needs more love/ more fanfiction. It's ridiculously small compared to how awesome it is. I guess this is a drabblish thingie with no plot, just random almost fluff. ._. ;; and uhm, I might write more. But I also might not. Depends, I guess. So if you happen to read this, please enjoy. (: **

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><p><strong><em>Getting to know you<em>**

_(Onodera Ritsu p.o.v)_

As I lay there, sleepless, my mind wandered. Each train of thought stirred a new set of uncomfortable feelings, and the thoughts refused to relent, biting at my conscience and stealing sleep from possibility. I was all too aware of the sound of Takano-san's deep, steady breaths at my side, tickling the hairs on the back of my neck every so often with gentle warmth. I considered my situation and found myself lost in the tangle of complications and emotions.

Everything about this was wrong. He was my boss, my first lover and better yet, the man who broke my heart all those years ago. I hardly knew him anymore, his interests and personality had changed over the last decade, and conversation was severely stunted between us. We had talked about this under the colourful lights of the fireworks only hours before.

All these obstacles, and yet here I lay, naked, next to the man causing all the current inner turmoil. All these difficulties, and yet when I was with him -feeling his large hands roam, leaving ridiculous heat in their wake, revelling in his kisses, breathing in the scent of our sex and being unbearably raw and vulnerable before him- it all felt so right. It hadn't changed along with his hair, or his face, or his personality. When we were together, baring everything to each other, it felt like I knew everything about him, which clearly wasn't true. After all, I'd only managed to learn his shoe size tonight...

I was confused as to how I felt about him. There was no denying now that I was attracted to him (...Inwardly, anyway). I liked him at the very least, but the word "love" didn't seem to fit. "Love" involved knowledge- knowing interests, habits, quirks, etc. - which was something I lacked severely. And yet, "like" didn't fit either. It wasn't... enough.

Sleep was most definitely out of the question, and I took a nice moment to envy the larger man's deeply slumbering form. For a short while I watched his chest rhythmically rise and fall, his long, dark eyelashes flutter slightly, the slither of moonlight peek in from the blinds and illuminate the contours of his torso and toned arms, and watch the dark locks of hair move as his breath shifted the inky strands falling over his forehead , ever-so-slightly. I envied his state. How was it fair, that he got to rest so soundly in post-coital bliss without a care in the world whilst I battled away thoughts centred entirely around him and the problems he was causing me, and fought them to the death for the right to sleep?

My legs slung gently over the side of the bed, the pads of my feet connecting with the chilled wooden flooring, shocking the nerves there slightly. I sat for a while, again just pondering, before I gave up on that too and resigned myself to a wander in the vague hope of clearing my thoughts. I grabbed someone's shirt on the way out of the bedroom and slid it on as I exited to the hallway without a sound.

I didn't need to turn a light on as the apartment was gently lit by the pale of the moon. Everything glowed in blues and whites, giving the rooms a different feel from normal, a more mysterious yet relaxing aura. It looked a lot like my apartment, just slightly different setting and a distinct "Takano-san" air to it. It was hard to put my finger on what made it that way, however. I let my stiffened limbs lead the way slowly (at least the pain in my backside was bearable tonight...), out of the living area, past the bathroom and stopping before an unknown door. Upon opening it, I found a smaller room. I had something of the like, but it contained a washing machine and drying racks, this room however, was a wonder.

Countless canvases hung from a string line, some were dotted around the walls, or stacked on the floor. Loose sheets of paper lay on a desk along with various pens, pencils and paints. All previously troubling thoughts vanished as my eyes darted between each drawing, unsure of where to land. The colours were spectacular, each drawing unique and beautiful. There were cityscapes of greys and deep indigos, landscapes of fresh greens and crisp blues, still lives of bright yellows and reds, fantasy scenes of the richest turquoises and purples. Each painting stunned me further, my sight awed by the beauty surrounding. On one wall there were many pencil sketches of portraits, ranging from simple to complicatedly detailed. I'm not sure how long I gaped at my surroundings before I finally caught glimpse of the half-done canvas painting on the easel.

I stepped closer, the cooler air brushing my legs and making my hair stand on end as my eyes took in the picture before me. It was a landscape, seemingly normal if not mundane, yet it felt achingly familiar. Snow graced the scene before me, colours reminiscent of the ones filling the apartment, colours of the night-time. Gentle whites and deep inky blues, and then the brilliant white of the snow made up the buildings and trees and sky of that scene that gave me the strongest pang of déjà vu...

A sudden hand on my shoulder shattered my temporary state of oblivion, throwing me back harshly to reality and causing me to let out a small, startled yell.

"Why aren't you in bed?" The low voice was unmistakable, its tone somewhere between pissed off and concerned, also with a definite twang of tiredness.

"Eh, I was just- uhh... Couldn't sleep," I replied unintelligently, still recovering from the shock of being shaken from my quiet moment of awe. Silence lingered for a while and I couldn't see Takano's expression in the shadows, but I was still drawn in and heavily distracted by the stunning sceneries surrounding me in the room.

"... Did you do all these?" My voice was unintentionally small as I continued to stare around the room.

"Yeah, they're nothing special though. Just a hobby I s'pose," was the non-committal answer from the dark haired man behind me. His tone indicated no signs of modesty (that man had no grasp on what the word even meant) or embarrassment, meaning he fully meant what he said, which sparked an argument within me.

"'Nothing special?'Are you even serious? Look at these! Just LOOK! All the colour, the detail, the beauty-! God, I haven't seen art like this for the longest time and yet you can stand here and declare it 'Nothing special'? Of course it's special, in fact, it's fucking fantastic! So don't you DARE stand there with that uninterested look on your face and tell me that this work is 'Nothing special' when we both know damn well that this is amazing!" As I finished the sentence and the words hung in the air for several long seconds, I wished it was possible to shove them all back in my mouth and swallow them, pretend they hadn't happened. But the look on Takano-san's face told me that those words had, indeed, happened.

I don't know why I was so suddenly embarrassed; after all, what I had said was perfectly true. I guess it was just the manner in which I chose to just about catapult the statement out there with such randomly burning passion without even thinking properly that was kind of undignified, and caused the massive blush to spread across my face and dust the tips of my ears. I hoped to god that it was shadowed and he couldn't see it...

I hoped in vain, clearly, because one large stride had the other man's lips pressed to mine firmly, tongue dancing across my lips and sliding across my own. When he finally parted, gently, I saw the look in his eyes. It was happy, thankful... almost loving.

"You know, you're the only person who knows about this. I've always been into art but... it's always just been a way to get things off of my mind. A relaxing hobby I guess..." there was a pause where the taller male averted his eyes, smiling slightly, before his gaze was once more trained firmly onto mine, unmoving and strong.

"... Seeing you get so worked up over it, well. It really makes me happy, I guess."  
>The smile I was receiving was rare and genuine. There was no smirk to it - no un-pure slant- just plain emotion, clear as day. There was no denying its beauty.<p>

This time, the kiss was gentle, almost achingly so, and upon parting I was pulled into a strong embrace. I was so sure he could feel my heart fluttering like some idiotic bird, dizzy with concussion after slamming into a window. If he did, he didn't say anything. We stayed like that for some time; every time I squirmed he simply held on tighter, before I eventually resigned to the embrace and leaned into his sturdy frame. From the fabric of his nightshirt, I mumbled

"The canvas on the easel. What is it...?"

I felt the fabric shift as he moved his head in the direction of the canvas, before returning and sinking into the crook of my neck. The small chuckle he let out tickled my shoulder.

"Seem familiar?" he asked, slightly bemused

"Yeah," I answered quietly.

There was another small yet comfortable silence as I stayed encompassed in his arms and he chuckled breathily a little more.

"... It's the view from my window, from my old bedroom back in high school. I started painting it not long after I met you again, when I was remembering how things were back then."

And so it clicked. The familiarity linked with the memories from so long ago, of me simply staring out his bedroom window into the distance beyond. The snow in particular struck a memory chord of one night they'd shared together, again in one another's arms- one of many.

Hours later, and this time I lay in bed, securely held by his arms, falling asleep to his feather-light kisses on my skin and the images of his artwork swirling round my mind, and now the re-assuring thought that I had learned something more. Takano-san was an artist.

**a/n: R&R if you feel like it, let me know if there's something I should do better or if there's anything good in there. And yes, I used some writer's license and made Takano-san an artist. He just seemed like the type, in my personal opinion. **

**Thanks to anyone who took the time to read this. (:**


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